


a marriage of (in)convenience

by muse_apollo



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (but only a little bit) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Arranged Marriage, Beholding Avatar Sasha James, Desolation Avatar Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), F/F, F/M, Fantasy Politics, Lonely Avatar Martin Blackwood, M/M, Magic, Martin Blackwood is a Lukas, Murder, Sort Of, author spent way to long on world building, basically the avatars are like clerics, found-family dynamics, he's adopted, in that they get powers from worshipping gods
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29625417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muse_apollo/pseuds/muse_apollo
Summary: Jon isn't exactly sure how his life got to this point, but he can certainly say he isn't exactly pleased about it. He would have thought a life of dedicated service to his God would have at least given him some kind of benefit, but instead he finds himself in this rather... uncomfortable predicament. And the fact of the matter is, well... it's not as if he can refuse, given the circumstances.He sighs, thumping his head back against the way. "Well..." he mutters to himself. "I guess I'm getting married."-or-a high fantasy jmart arranged marriage au
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Sasha James & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 24
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i am once again starting ANOTHER wip instead of working on all my other ones... 
> 
> also with regards to the worldbuilding for this, it's a high fantasy au, wherein the different entities represent different royal houses, and the avatars are basically like royalty, because they're considered blessed by the gods. So instead of rulership passing down through bloodlines, it passes down to the most powerful member of the house. It's not so much of a 'family' dynamic as it is a political arrangement between people with the same patron, except with the Lukases in which case, it is actually a family.

Jonathan Sims had always seemed predestined for house beholding. From a young age, he had displayed a thirst for knowledge which had not characterized other members of the Sims family. Still, despite this apparent predisposition, there was no part of Jon that could have predicted he would be where he was today. The shock was brought about by the simple fact that none of his ancestors had ever had enough connection with any of the gods to be blessed with its gifts. 

True, some of his ancestors had been closely touched by entities, loyal servants to them, even, but to  _ become _ an avatar, to truly give oneself over to a power, was something no member of the Sims lineage had ever achieved. The closest had been Jon’s two-times-great grandfather, who had spent his life in devout servitude to the spider, but found himself at the end with nothing to show for it. 

There was no clear way of determining how, exactly, the avatars were chosen, which was why the people of this world had come to view them with something like divine providence. Jon wasn’t sure he considered his gift to be divine in nature, certainly it was useful at times, but he was hardly worthy of worship because of it. Moreover, the fact was his curiosity had gotten him in far more trouble than his ailing grandmother had been able to handle, and so she had solved her problem the only way she knew how; by depositing her seven-year-old grandson on the doorstep of house Beholding, and not looking back. 

It’d been nearly two decades since, and Jon hasn’t heard from his grandmother in that time. Still, it’s not an uncommon story among those with an affinity for the powers; after all, raising a supernaturally inclined child is best done by those with some experience in the area. 

He couldn’t really complain about his upbringing though. Not when, at the end of the day, his life was fairly good. He had received magical training at the hands of the Lady Robinson, current head of house Beholding. He had everything he needed to survive, all the reading material he could have asked for, and what was likely a far better life than he would have had if he’d stayed under the care of his grandmother. 

That being said, there was one thing which Jon didn’t appreciate all that much about his newfound nobility, and that was the more  _ social _ aspects.  _ Diplomacy _ was hardly something Jon excelled at, and being a member of one of their world’s most powerful families did come with certain… obligations. 

For example, this evening, House Beholding was holding a celebration in honour of Gertrude Robinson’s retirement from her position as Head of House, and her announcement of her subsequent successor. Jon was, unfortunately, obligated to attend. Members of nobility from other houses would, of course, also be in attendance, and as a high-ranking follower of the Watcher, Jon would be obligated to…  _ socialize _ with them, the mere thought of which left something of a bad taste in his mouth. 

Currently Jon is sequestered in a corner of his own chamber with a book open on his knee. He makes a small, scribbled note in the margin, his brow furrowing deeply. There’s a knock on the door and Jon sighs, looking up. 

“Yes?”

“It’s me!” Sasha’s voice comes muffled through the wood of the door. “Can I come in?” 

“Yes, alright,” the door swings open, and Sasha steps into the room, smiling her radiant smile at him. She’s already in her outfit for the celebration tonight, a floor length pale blue gown embroidered with small pink and white flowers. Upon closer inspection, one can make out the shapes of small eyes stitched into the centers of the blossoms. “I was worried you were Elias,” Jon grumbles, slipping a small ribbon between the pages of the book to mark his place before shutting it. 

“No, he’s downstairs pestering the staff just now. Apparently he has  _ very  _ specific opinions about how the hall should be decorated. You know how he gets.” 

Jon snorts. “Yes well… perhaps if he wants all the table settings arranged  _ just so _ , then he should do it  _ himself _ . Watcher forbid he break a nail or something.”

Sasha laughs. “Careful… the walls have eyes you know.” 

“I’d say it to his face just as soon.”

“Now  _ that _ I’d like to see,” she smiles at him, a wide, radiant smile. Sasha’s story was remarkably similar to Jon’s own, a youth who’d presented an affinity for a power, and had been sent by her family to receive training in hopes of giving her a better life. She’d arrived shortly after Jon had, and had got it in her mind that she would break through his walls of sullen solitude. It had taken some time, but eventually Jon had accepted her as an aspect of his life, the two had been fast friends since. She nudges him with her foot. “Guests should start arriving soon.” 

“ _ Wonderful _ .” 

“You should get dressed,” she gestures too his current attire, a loose tunic and a pair of sleep pants.

Jon sighs. “Do I have to?”

“Come on. Up,” she holds out a hand. Jon sighs, and takes it, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. Sasha is nearly a foot taller than him, and a fair bit stronger than him, so pulls him up with ease. “You don’t want Elias to see the state you’re in and go on another rant about tradition do you?” 

“Oh gods no, I doubt both of us would  _ survive _ that interaction.” 

“Good, now let’s see if I can do something about your hair hmm?” 

*****

Martin stands in front of the mirror, nervously adjusting his doublet, he always feels a bit ridiculous getting dressed into formal wear, feeling a bit like an imposter. It’s not necessarily  _ wrong _ for him to feel out of place in that regard, considering he wasn’t exactly born to this life but rather stumbled upon it through fortunate coincidence. His mother -though it was hardly fair to call her that, considering how little  _ mothering _ she’d actually done- had been poor, and Martin had been destined for the same, or would have been if it hadn’t been for Peter. 

When Martin was nine, he and his mother had been staying in a cave on the beach, having recently lost their home in a flood that destroyed much of the village they lived in. One day she had gone into town, saying that she would return in a days time once she had picked up supplies. Even at that young age, Martin had felt the weight of the lie, but what could he do? So he had remained, waiting for his mother to come back, carefully rationing out his food and water. 

The way Peter tells it, he had been out for a walk one afternoon, and felt the waves of loneliness radiating out from the cave. Martin can still remember the fear he’d felt at the silhouette of a large, imposing man. He’d brandished the small dagger that his mother had given him for protection, and Peter had laughed. 

“Well, there’s no need for that. I’m not gonna hurt you,” he’d frowned down at Martin, perplexed by this round-faced boy with his mop of red-blonde curls, and his cloak of Loneliness. “Now, how did you get here?” 

Martin had told Peter the story of his mother’s absence, and Peter had nodded once, solemnly. “Well, you can’t stay here, can you? Not safe, leaving a child alone on the beach like that,” he’d held out one, large hand, having to stoop down to be more level with Martin. “Come on then.” 

“Where are we going?” 

“You’ll see,” and Peter had lead him off along the strangely foggy beach. 

And that had been it. Martin had gone from being very likely to die of starvation in a cave to being adopted into a very wealthy and very powerful family. It was odd, to think that he had found a home in Forsaken. Antithetical somehow. 

And yet, here he is, standing before the mirror, dressed in finery that matches his House colours, deep navy velvet, with swirling silver threads, resembling the fog which characterizes his God. He runs a hand through his hair, trying to make some semblance of neatness out of his stubborn curls. The red-blonde is shot through with premature white now, the Lonely leaving its subtle mark on him. 

There’s a knock on the door and Martin almost jumps out of his skin. A moment later, Peter pokes his head in. “Almost ready to go?” 

Martin sighs. “Yeah, I suppose,” he casts another glance at his reflection. “I hate this sort of thing, I always feel like I’m gonna embarrass myself.” 

“It’ll be alright, Martin,” Peter places a hand on Martin’s shoulder, squeezing it once reassuringly, before the hand falls away. “I’ll let you in on a secret,” his voice drops into a conspiratorial kind of fake-whisper, “I hate this sort of thing too.”

“That’s not a secret,” Martin scoffs at him. “In fact, I don’t think you could be more obvious about it.” 

“Ouch,” Peter laughs, pale eyes crinkling with mirth. “Also don’t worry about embarrassing yourself, you know how Beholding’s lot are. Judgy pricks, who cares what they think hmm?” 

“Thanks, dad.” 

“Come on then, we best get on the road. You know Bouchard’ll throw a fit if we’re late,” Peter starts towards the door and Martin follows him. “I swear, that man lives inside his own arse…” 

“You’re the one who married him…” 

Peter snorts, grabbing his coat from where he’s left in draped over a chair in the foyer. “Yes well, we all make mistakes, Martin. And need I remind you I also _divorced_ him." 

"And here I thought he divorced you..."

"Get in the carriage, Martin." 

*****

Guest’s are well into arriving by the time Sasha has Jon looking presentable, dressed in a green velvet waistcoat, and a silk tunic, with his hair elaborately braided back from his face. He stands in a corner of the room, arms crossed over his chest, gaze sweeping over the room. 

Sasha is about ten feet away, engaged in an animated conversation with Tim. Both of them are smiling, leaning close to each other. Jon knows the two of them don’t see as much of each other as they’d like, with Tim being a denizen of the Lightless Flame. It’s good to see her happy, and Jon likes Tim well enough, even if the other man can be a bit much at times. 

Still, he’s never quite sure what to do with himself without Sasha around, she tends to help remove the attention from him. It’s at that moment when Tim catches his eye and waves him over. Oh dear, well, he supposes a little conversation is unavoidable given the circumstances. He pushes off the wall, and approaches. 

“Jonny boy!” Tim claps him on the shoulder. “Good to see you!” 

“Yes, um… you as well Tim,” Jon ducks his head in a slight bow. “Please don’t call me that.” 

“‘Course, sorry,” he beams at Jon, not looking particularly sorry. “You look good!” 

“Oh, thank you, Tim.” Jon glances at Tim’s own outfit, a bright red doublet, left unlaced at the front to show the open collar of the white shirt beneath it. It wasn’t exactly proper, but that was to be expected of Desolation’s lot. “You look-”  _ garish _ , “nice.” He turns to Sasha. “Have you seen Basira at all?” 

“Not yet, but I’m sure her and Daisy will get here soon. It’s still early after all.” 

“Right, yes,” Jon nods curtly. Basira had trained alongside him and Sasha under Beholding, had lived with them for a time, though she’d never gained the kind of power that the Eye had gifted to both Jon and Sasha. Still they had all been close. About five years ago, Basira had decided that serving the Eye wasn’t what she wanted out of her life, and had decided to spend some time travelling. She’d needed to ‘find herself’, apparently. Jon never got confirmation on whether or not Basira had found herself, but she had found Daisy, and the two had eloped fairly quickly after that. Now Basira lived in the Hunt, and Jon really only saw her at events such as this. 

“Anyone else notice no one from Forsaken’s here yet?” Tim surveys the room. “That doesn’t bode well, does it?” 

Sasha snorts a laugh. “It means we might get to see Elias throw another of his tantrums, which should be entertaining.” 

“Where is he anyway? Haven’t seen him yet either,” Tim raises an eyebrow. “Surprised he’s not gotten around to making himself the center of attention just yet.” 

Jon scoffs. “Night’s still young, plenty of time for theatrics I’m sure. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s plotting some as we speak.” 

"I wonder if he’ll throw his drink in Lukas’ face again,” Tim grins. “Now  _ that _ was funny.” 

“Yes, I do love that political relations between Beholding and Forsaken are under constant strain because of Elias’ personal life, it’s all very  _ funny _ , Tim,” Jon retorts. 

“Jon-” Sasha starts. 

“Alright, sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” Tim holds up his hands, placating.

“It’s-” Jon sighs. “It’s  _ fine _ . Sorry Tim. I’m a bit on edge is all.” 

“All good,” Tim grins at him. “Need a drink or something?” 

“Yes, actually. Thank you.” 

“Sash?” 

“Oh, yes, thank you Tim, that’d be lovely,” She smiles at him. 

“Anything for you, my Lady,” he catches her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, and Sasha’s cheeks flush. “Back in a minute then,” Tim strides off in the direction of the rather elaborate wine fountain at the center of the room. 

“Jon, I have something I need to tell you!” Sasha steps closer to him, her eyes wide with excitement.

“Oh?” Jon raises an eyebrow. “What is it?” 

“So Tim and I were talking, and well-” she wrings her hands excitedly. “We want to get married! I mean, obviously we’re waiting to announce it, what with Gertrude retiring and naming her successor, and I mean I don’t think it will be me, obviously, but there’s always that chance, you never know with her and-” she cuts herself off suddenly, meeting Jon’s eye. “Jon? Are you alright?”

“I-” Jon isn’t sure exactly how to describe the thing he’s feeling in that moment. He is, of course, happy for Sasha first and foremost, and he had known this was an eventuality. She and Tim had been engaged in their courtship for years now. Still, the good news comes with a caveat. The possibility of Sasha leaving. He thinks of Basira, and of the slow stream of people exiting his life and he aches. “I’m fine, I’m happy for you Sasha. Really.”

“Hey,” Sasha takes Jon’s hand in hers. “This doesn’t mean I’m leaving, okay? You’re family to me, this doesn’t change that.” 

“Right.” 

It’s at that moment that Tim returns, somehow managing to carry three goblets between his two hands. It would be almost impressive if Jon wasn’t terrified of him dropping one. “I’m back with-” he pauses, seeming to take in the state of the two of them. “Oh, um. Everything okay?”

Sasha opens her mouth to say something, but Jon interjects. 

“Sasha was just telling me the good news, congratulations you two.” 

“Oh!” Tim’s face lights up at that. “Well, it’s not official yet, so maybe don’t tell anyone else, but yeah, we’re very excited.” Tim pauses, looking at something just over Jon’s shoulder. “Oh heads up! Show’s about to start.”

Jon glances in the direction of Tim’s gaze, and spots two figures entering the hall. He recognizes Peter Lukas, of course he does, but he’s not sure he’s met the slightly shorter man at his side. Curious. He doesn’t quite look like a Lukas, though the Lonely certainly clings close enough to him as it does to one. He must be somewhat important to be in attendance at all, normally Peter is the only Lukas that comes to their gatherings. The young man at Peter's side meets Jon's eye from across the room for just a moment, and then drops his gaze to the floor. _Curious indeed_. 

He shakes off the odd feeling in his stomach, and drains his cup in a single sip, trying not to think about how empty -how _Lonely_ \- the Panopticon's halls will be after Sasha goes. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for the feedback so far! I'm glad to see people like it!
> 
> see end notes for content warnings

Martin’s initial plan had been to remain close to Peter’s side for the duration of the evening. Peter’s fog was, afterall, stronger than his, with most sets of eyes sliding off of him, as well as those in his near vicinity. The problem, then, was that this did not apply to  _ all  _ sets of eyes, particularly those who were  _ looking _ . In this case, the pair of eyes that narrowed in on Peter mere minutes after they arrived were cold, and grey, and malicious. Martin had never understood his father’s decision to marry a denizen of the Beholding, much less  _ Elias _ , and so, as a general rule, tried to avoid their interactions at all costs. 

Which is why, as soon as Elias starts striding in their direction, Martin makes a beeline for the nearest uninhabited corner. He’s hoping he can spend as much of his night as possible sequestered in the corner, and perhaps – if he pushes hard enough – that he can pull the Lonely around himself enough to turn a few eyes away from him. 

This works well for almost a full hour, with Martin occasionally darting between his chosen corner and the refreshments table in order to refill his drink. The problem is… well, with nothing to do with his hands Martin finds himself having drank a bit more than intended, and his head is feeling a bit foggy by this point. 

Which is probably why, on his third return trip to his corner, newly filled glass in hand, Martin isn’t exactly watching where he’s going, and promptly barrels into someone, spilling his drink down the front of their shirt. 

“Oh dear, I – s-sorry. I’m so sorry about that, oh here I might have–” Martin starts fumbling, digging around in his pockets for a handkerchief. 

“Oh for–” the person in front of him curses, and Martin looks up and  _ oh _ . The man in front of him is a bit shorter than Martin, with dark skin, and long, wavy black hair, braided back from well… a very  _ nice  _ face, truth be told. And of course it would be Martin’s luck that he would embarrass himself in front of someone good looking. The man with the nice face looks very annoyed with him. Martin hopes the floor would open up and swallow him. 

“Is it  _ so _ hard to watch where you’re going?” The man snaps at him. 

“I’m  _ really _ sorry…” Martin’s cheeks feel too hot as he finally finds which pocket his handkerchief had been in. “It’s not much but here, this should....” he moves to dab at the stain on the other man’s clothes. 

“That’s quite alright, I can do it myself.” The handkerchief is snatched from his hand. 

“Right. Again I am so sorry about that, really clumsy of me, I should have been looking where I was going…” Martin is distinctly aware that this incident has garnered some attention – can feel several sets of eyes from around the room burning into him. Never before had he wished more that he was strong enough to vanish into the Lonely the way Peter could. 

“You’re what?” The man looks up at him with narrowed eyes. “A Lukas?”

“Oh, um yes,” Martin ducks his head a bit at that. “M-Martin… I’m um, Peter’s son.”

The irritated expression on the other man’s face morphs into one of confusion. 

“Adopted,” Martin clarifies.

“Ah. Right,” The man nods once. “Well, if you don’t mind, I need to go and–” a huff of breath, “– _ deal  _ with this.” He gestures once to himself before turning and striding off. 

“It was nice to meet you?” Martin calls feebly after him. “Right…” he mutters to himself. “Oh ‘don’t worry Martin, you won’t embarrass yourself’. Of course not, how could I  _ possibly _ embarrass myself?” Martin sighs, going to refill his wasted drink. 

He realizes belatedly that he’d forgotten both to get the man’s name, and to get his handkerchief back. 

*****

Annabelle Cane has a specific tradition she observes each time she visits the houses of the other powers. She breaks off from the main party in order to distribute some of her spies throughout the building. It’s always good to keep an eye on things, after all. Perhaps it’s not entirely polite – and it’s certainly not  _ good _ diplomacy – but she can’t help her nature. 

It’s easier with the other houses for two reasons: the first being that a spider can hide with far more ease when it’s not surrounded by watching eyes; and the second being that Jonathan Sims has a rather nasty habit of crushing her spies when he finds them. This is, of course, less because he knows they’re spies, and more because of his deep seated dislike for spiders in general. She can’t blame him for that, really, since he had been marked by the Web in the early years of his life.

Of course, her spiders couldn’t be killed in the same way as ordinary spiders, and would quickly rematerialize in a new location. Still, it was important to replenish their ranks now and again. 

Which is how Annabelle happens to find herself in one of the Panopticon’s winding corridors at the right moment to catch the sound of muffled, irritated voices coming from behind a closed door. 

Annabelle creeps closer, close enough to better make out the words being said. The first voice is tinged with sharp irritation, and though she’s only heard it a few times, Annabelle knows it to be the voice of Peter Lukas. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The reply comes in a smug, silken tone, instantly recognizable if only for the irritation that it stirs deep in Annabelle’s gut. “Now, Peter, I’m sure I don’t know  _ what  _ you’re talking about.” 

There’s a thump, like a fist being slammed on the surface of a table. “Don’t give me that. You’re  _ plotting _ something, I can see it all over your face.” 

“Yes well, I fail to see how that’s any of  _ your  _ business,” Elias replies shortly. 

“It’s my business,” Peter’s voice comes through gritted teeth, “because whatever it is you're up to, I’m sure you’ll find a way to drag me into it, just like you always do.” There’s a long pause. “Look, whatever it is you’re doing, just stop.”

“Well, I’m afraid it’s a bit late for that. Things have already been… set in motion as it were. I suppose you’ll just have to trust me.” 

“ _ Wonderful _ , because that’s always worked out so well for me in the past.” 

“Peter…” Elias behind, and it’s at this point that Annabelle senses the conversation may be headed in the direction of something she’d rather  _ not _ overhear, and she turns to make her way back to the ballroom. 

She smiles slyly to herself, filing the conversation under  _ interesting _ . 

****

Jon is having a terrible evening. He had already been in quite the state of irritation  _ before _ having a drink poured down the front of his tunic, but that particular event had definitely been the icing on the cake that was his shitty night. 

Now he slinks back into his chamber, hoping to find something more suitable to wear than the wine-stained mess that is his current outfit. He can already tell that the stain isn’t going to come out any time soon. 

He makes his way down the hall, the hard soles of his shoes clicking against the stone floor. The sound echoes off the walls, magnified by the utter silence of the empty halls. Such a big place for so few people to inhabit. 

On his journey, Jon passes Gertrude’s quarters, and he’s struck by the realization that he hasn’t seen her yet this evening. That’s not particularly unusual for her; Gertrude tends to have a similar approach to Jon with regards to these kinds of events, usually showing up for only as long as was strictly necessary. Still, it was odd that she had yet to make any kind of appearance. 

Stranger still, Jon notes, is the fact that the door to Gertrude’s chamber is slightly ajar. His brow furrows deeply at that. 

Jon knocks lightly on the door, calling out to her. “Gertrude?” 

There’s a long moment of eerie silence and Jon feels dread pool in his gut. He pushes the door open and the first thing he notices is the blood. 

There’s so much blood, a puddle of deep red – near black in the dim light of the room, glinting in the firelight, soaking into the rug. Blood dripping from limp, pale fingers. Jon’s gaze follows the trail of it, up the length of pale, slim arm to where the form of Gertrude Robinson sits dead in her chair. 

Her neck is a slash of red, her head hanging limp at an awkward angle, her eyes are glazed and stare empty into the middle distance. 

Jon stares at her for a long moment, his whole body shaking slightly. Then he starts to scream. 

*****

Tim is having an excellent night. He has Sasha at his side, her hand is warm in his, and his heart is full. Danny is here, and Tim is overjoyed at the opportunity to finally introduce him and Sasha. He doesn’t see his brother as often as he’d like these days, not since he left House Stranger to join the Lightless Flame. He’s elated to see the two of them getting along. 

He’s a little tipsy from wine, but not unpleasantly so. At one point, Sasha leans close to him, her brow furrowed just a bit. 

“Have you seen Jon? I haven’t seen them in a while.”

Tim frowns at that, turning his gaze around the room. “No I… huh.” A pause, “Probably not a good sign.” 

“No,” Sasha frowns. “I hope he’s alright. These things can be a lot for him.” 

“I’m sure he’s fine.” A pause, “But I can help you look for him if you like?”

Sasha opens her mouth as if to say something, but is cut short when Jon appears, rushing into the ballroom. His eyes are wild, and he runs up to Sasha, grabbing her shoulders. 

“Jon, what’s wrong?” 

Jon’s breathing hard, chest heaving with every breath, his whole body is shaking just slightly. Tim isn’t sure what to say, so stands quietly off to the side, watching the interaction with a furrowed brow. 

“It’s –” Jon starts to speak, then stumbles over his breaths. 

There’s a dark stain across the front of Jon’s clothes, and Tim feels dread pool in his gut. “That’s not –” A pause, “That’s not blood, is it?” 

“What?” Jon shakes their head. “No, wine. But that’s not –”

Around the room eyes are turning towards them, drawn to the spectacle of Jon’s haggard appearance. 

Jon starts to speak again, the words coming a bit cleaner. “It’s Gertrude, she’s –”

“What on  _ earth  _ is going on over here?” It’s Elias, having walked over to investigate. 

Finally Jon seems to have caught his breath enough to speak. “Gertrude’s dead.” 

*****

Word of Lady Robinson’s death spreads quickly through the crowded room, and before long, all of the guests are in a state of near panic. 

In the ensuing chaos, a number of things get lost. In the mess of the fallout, Annabelle Cane is the only person who sees the moment where Elias Bouchard’s perfectly tailored expression slips for just a moment and he  _ smiles _ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW:  
> \- secondhand embarrassment  
> \- alcohol use  
> \- mentions of spiders  
> \- blood  
> \- murder  
> \- description of a corpse


End file.
